


Feels Like Home

by FallenAngel69



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dancing, Diners, F/M, Falling In Love, I DON’T USE Y/N EVER..., Musical References, POV Alternating, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-19 04:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22905277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenAngel69/pseuds/FallenAngel69
Summary: It's Post-Endgame in Brooklyn, New York, and Bucky Barnes is trying to find himself again. One day, fate would have him walk into a diner and meet a waitress who could be the key to his success.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 43
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a month or so ago. Got inspired by something Sebastian said at a convention, and well... I have a brand new (OLD -really old) collection of vinyl records that have also lent their inspiration to this fic. I don't know how quickly I will update. I'm going to try to stay ahead at least one chapter if possible. I already have chapter two finished so it will be posted likely within a week or so.... enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters mentioned in this fic. This is just that fiction. No harm intended. :)

The diner is a little hole in the wall place that Bucky discovered near Prospect Park not long after moving back to Brooklyn. It quickly became one of his favorite hide outs. Yes, hide outs. He likes to go there after his morning run. It’s quiet and no one seems to notice or care who he is and that’s a feat in New York these days. There is a booth in the back of the diner where he always sits. In fact, he’s pretty sure that the waitress with the ponytail makes sure that no one sits there between the hours of nine and ten a.m. which is when he usually shows up, if he is going to show at all.

He’s appreciative of that little bit of kindness. Aside from Gladys—the older waitress who seems to be the mother hen of the shop, she is the only one he’s actually talked more than a few words to within the last few months. Of course, that is simply because she’s persistent and refused to leave him alone like the others did. He likes her spunk though, so he doesn’t really mind. She reminds him a bit of himself from back in the thirties.

He smiles at the thought of her as he opens the door to the diner, stepping inside to get out of the rain before it turns into another downpour like the one that drenched him during his morning run. The waitress waves, giving him a bright smile when she hears the doorbell chime, alerting her to his arrival. “I’ll be right with you, Bucky,” she says, her tone cheery as she finishes up with the customer at the register.

Bucky gives her a nod before continuing to the back corner of the diner to _his_ table. He slides into the booth and pulls his phone from his pocket needing to send off a quick text to his therapist. He’d started working on and off with a therapist several months ago just to help him through some turmoil that he still had over the whole “snap” thing; or “blip” whatever people wanted to call it when Thanos successfully suspended life for half the universe’s population. Bucky had thought that after his time in Wakanda that he’d never have to experience going to sleep one day and waking up years later ever again. However, when the snap happened and five years passed in what was essentially the blink of an eye for him, it was just like he’d been put back in cryo again; only this time he remembered everything.

And like every other time that he’d been brought back, there was a war, a mission; some kind of battle that he was expected to take part in. It was a lot to handle and eventually, he realized that he couldn’t—and really shouldn’t—deal with it on his own.

He’d shut down for a short period after Tony’s funeral and after Steve’s…well whatever that stunt was. When Steve had explained his plan to him, Bucky had been shocked, and honestly, he’d been unsure about how he was supposed to feel about it. There was a part of him that wanted to be selfish and lash out at Steve for such a stupid idea, because he needed his best friend and he was so sick of them losing each other time and time again. But then there was the other part of him—the rational part—that kinda understood where Steve was coming from. Nothing in this “new world” made Steve happy—not really. He longed for a simpler time and for the chance to reclaim the happy life that was stolen from him over seventy years ago. A life that he really hadn’t even had a chance to get a taste of. Bucky could appreciate that, and so he sucked it up and pretended to be happy for Steve.

Sam had been great too. Not a replacement by any means, but he was a good friend, a great partner, and if Bucky was being honest; Sam made things a lot easier to cope with. He was actually the one who had suggested Bucky’s therapist. Then there were his other friends—the ones he made in Wakanda. Shuri was his unexpected go-to person whenever Sam was driving him up the wall. He was thankful for modern technology that allowed them to communicate at anytime from anywhere.

“What can I get for you, today? The usual?” The waitress asks.

Bucky takes a breath, remembering what his assignment was for the week. He was supposed to be trying at least one new thing. That could include food, right? “Actually, no. Is there something on the menu that maybe isn’t so traditional?”

She purses her lips thoughtfully while filling his coffee cup and setting four creamers on the table next to the cup. “I think I can find you something. In the mood for something new?”

He smiles up at her—she really was a sweetheart. “Something like that.”

“Ok. Well, is there anything that you don’t like?”

Bucky shrugs. He isn’t really that picky. So far, he hasn’t come across anything that he really hates. Hell, almost anything is an upgrade from the bland foods that he was used to.

“Alright. Do you trust me?” He doesn’t answer immediately as if he’s trying to decide, so she continues. “I have a pretty good record at guessing which foods my customers will enjoy. I have an idea about you.”

“Ok, then… I guess I trust you.” Bucky grins at the way her eyes light up and before he knows it, she’s gone, heading back towards the counter where she sets the coffee pot down before scurrying on into the kitchen.

Bucky pulls the coffee mug towards him and picks up the creamer, pouring them one by one into the dark roast coffee. There was a time when the only way he would drink coffee was straight up black, but there are more choices now. Plain milk or cream are still options, but he’s taken a liking to different flavors. Hazelnut being one of his favorites and that’s what the pretty waitress always brings him—at least since she figured out that it was the one he liked best.

He takes a sip while glancing around the diner. They’re not really busy. They usually aren’t at this time of day unless it’s a holiday. Bucky had learned that much when he’d started to talk in on Christmas Eve. He noticed the crowd and immediately turned to leave. He’s a bit more observant of dates now.

He’s still thinking about how crowds make him nervous when the waitress returns setting a large plate filled with thick French toast covered with whipped cream and fresh strawberries. Her smile is wide, and her eyes are bright as she exclaims, “Best French toast in Brooklyn, and…” His eyes grow wide, realizing she has more. He sets his coffee to the side as she plops another plate down in front of him. “Spinach and mushroom omelet toped with hollandaise sauce and freshly diced tomatoes.”

Bucky eyes the bowl that she’s still holding, and she grins, setting it down as well. His brow furrows as he takes in the contents of the bowl. There are pieces of a chocolate bar garnishing some kind of cooked grain. “Chocolate?”

“I know you have a sweet tooth. This also packs a great protein punch.”

“What is it?”

“Chocolate quinoa porridge. It’s quite yummy.”

“Anything like oatmeal?”

She chuckles softly and shakes her head. “Not really.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sweetie. I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.”

**  
***  
**

You notice him the moment he walks in—just like you do every time. The first time had been months ago. He looked as though he had just stumbled across the place. His long hair was tied back messily except for a few strands that seemed to shake loose from his run. You knew he’d been on a run due to his choice of clothing and the fact that he had stayed outside for a good five minutes trying to cool down before finally entering the diner. Of course, you recognized him right away. Having followed all the events involving the Avengers over the years, it was hard not to know Captain America’s sidekick and best pal, James Barnes. He actually introduced himself to you as Bucky though, so that’s what you’re calling him.

The first few times he was in, he didn’t say much. It was almost a task just to get him to order something other than coffee. The other wait staff seemed to give up after the first try, but you? You were persistent and he? Well, he was cute. Ok so that’s an understatement. He was—is—hot.

So, you kept trying, figuring that he’d either cave or stop coming in. He caved, and you actually got a real smile out of him one day. After that, the two of you seem to have a cool rapport, meaning that he still doesn’t talk much and if he does say more than three words it’s only to you—or Gladys; sometimes he talks to her. The other wait staff have taken to ignoring him when he comes in, knowing that you will take care of him. Of course, you’re not one hundred percent sure what happens when you aren’t there. Gladys, one of the older ladies that you’ve worked with for years once said that she was able to get him to talk for a bit about the Dodgers, seeing as how her dad had been a fan and talked incessantly about them while she was growing up. Apparently, he was curious about their move to LA. He’d never really heard the full story until she told him what her dad said.

Today is the first time that he’s shown any interest in anything other than bacon, eggs, and pancakes, of course, you’re going to jump at the chance to feed him something new. The quinoa was probably pushing it, but he seemed to be at least willing to try it.

It’s been around fifteen minutes since you left him with the food and it’s nearing time for your break, so you take your apron off and grab yourself a cup of coffee as well as a fresh cup—with four hazelnut creamers—for him before heading back to Bucky’s table. You slide into the booth across from him and he looks up, surprised to see you sitting there. “How’s everything?”

“Not bad. This stuff is different, but I do like the chocolate,” he says with a grin that almost seems flirtatious.

You lift a brow, looking at the plate where the toast had been. “And the French Toast?” You ask, because it had been demolished.

Picking up the fresh cup of coffee that you’d just set in front of him, he grins again, though it’s partially hidden by the mug moving to his lips. “Could be the best French Toast in Brooklyn.”

“Told ya!” You smile brightly, taking a sip of your own coffee. “So, I’m on break. Do you mind if I sit with you for ten?”

Bucky wipes his mouth with a paper napkin before opening it answer. “Uh,” and he still hesitates for a moment, but it’s not like you didn’t expect that, but then—much to your excitement—he shrugs. “Not at all, but I’m not great company.”

“Why do you say that?”

His eyes meet yours and it’s the first time you’ve really had a chance to look into them. They’re breathtakingly beautiful—a pretty blue that reminds you of the sky on a stormy day; and they’re shadowed perfectly by thick, dark lashes. You try your best not to break contact as he seems to be determining your motives. “I have a lot of stuff going on up here…” he says, gesturing to his head. “And I’ve kinda got used to being alone with my thoughts.”

“That sounds like it could be dangerous.” You send him a mischievous smile, hoping he gets that you’re only joking. He does. He even lets out bark of laughter which surprises you but it’s kind of nice to hear. Very nice actually.

“You have no idea.”

“Maybe you’ll have to enlighten me sometime.”

“I don’t think you really want to know.”

“Sure, I do. I’m quite interested to know what goes on in that super-soldier brain of yours.”

His eyes darken and he lets out a disappointed sigh. “So, you do know who I am.”

It was more of a statement than a question and the look on his face made you wish you could take that whole stupid sentence back. But seriously? Did he really think that people didn’t know who he was? You furrow your brow and send him an apologetic smile. “Of course, but don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I mean, I’m pretty sure that everyone here knows who you are, but I won’t tell, just in case.” You finish with a wink, hoping that it will help keep him from recoiling.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I guess it was pretty crazy of me to think anonymity is a possibility for me?”

“It’s not crazy,” you say with a disheartened sigh of your own. “It’s kinda unfair that you can’t have that luxury though. And, I’m sorry that I said anything. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying you for a bit before his smile is back and he’s shaking his head. “It’s ok, and you didn’t. I just…”

“I get it,” you interrupt, hoping to let him know that you don’t require or expect an explanation.

“Thanks.”

“Can I get you anything else?” You ask when you notice that your break is almost over.

“I think I’m good. Thanks again for helping me out. At least I can tell my therapist that I tried something new this week.”

You grin realizing that Bucky just shared something personal with you. “Well, I am glad I could help! Was that like your assignment this week? I know therapist do like to give homework.”

He sits up a little straighter in the booth, crossing his arms on the edge of the table. “Yeah. I was supposed to try something new. I’m not sure if food counts, but I’m going to use it.”

“Of course, it counts!” You glance at the clock again. “Ugh… I have to get back to work. Thanks for letting me sit with you.”

Bucky nods, reaching for his mug again. “Anytime.”

“Mmm… You might wanna be careful there. I’ll invade your space every day!”

You walk away quickly without giving him a chance to react or respond. Your heart is pretty much pounding out of your chest by the time you reach the kitchen. Gladys who had seen the whole scene transpire was hot on your tail, following you into the back near the freezers. “Holy shit, Gladys!” You exclaim quietly.

She laughs at your obvious excitement and she seems to be pretty amused because you know how much you must be spazzing inside. “I take it that, that went well?”

“He actually talked!” You say. “Like more than just answering my questions. He even offered up some personal stuff.”

“He is a sweet old man,” she says, grinning as you frown at her. “I enjoyed my short conversation about the Dodgers with him.”

“Will you please stop referring to him as old?”

“Honey he’s over a hundred.”

“Not physically, and I’m refusing to look at it any other way.”

**  
***  
**

Bucky exits the diner, pleased that it’s no longer raining. It makes his walk back to his apartment much nicer. He’s nearly there when his phone vibrates. It’s Sam. “Hey, Bird-boy!”

“Gramps! Where you at right now?”

“On my way home.”

“I just talked to Clint. We’re needed at the tower.”

Bucky stops walking, looking around him as people pass by without even a glance in his direction. “Are you in New York?”

“I’m on my way. Will probably be there around two,” Sam replies.

“Do you know what’s going on? Why didn’t Clint call me himself?”

“No clue man; and uh, I guess maybe as the new Captain, I’m supposed to do that?”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders although he knows Sam can’t see him and continues walking towards his apartment. “Makes sense.”

Once he reaches his place, Bucky takes a quick shower and changes into something more suitable—dark jeans, black t-shirt, and a leather jacket—before heading down to the parking garage where his motorcycle is parked. Sam may have got the shield, but Bucky got the bike, and Bucky loves the bike. He starts it up, puts on his helmet, and begins his forty-minute commute to Manhattan.

When he arrives at the tower, he enters the building through the security doors in the parking garage before heading towards the elevator that will take him to headquarters. He sees Wanda first. She’s sitting on one of the lounge chairs, reading a book. She smiles and lays it down when she sees Bucky.

“Hey, Buck!”

“Wanda. Where is everyone?”

“Clint is somewhere around here, Bruce and Scott are working in the lab with Hope, Sam and Rhodey are on their way, and the kid is in the kitchen making a snack.”

Bucky nods and plops down on the chair across from her. “Know what’s going on?”

“Nope. Just got a message to come here. You don’t know either?”

Shaking his head, “Nope. Nothing.”

**  
***  
**

It’s been almost a week. The clock on the wall reads twelve-thirty. Well past the time that Bucky would normally show up at the diner. This was the sixth day that he hadn’t shown up at his usual time to sit in his usual booth. It makes you sad to think he might be avoiding the diner now. Perhaps you should have just left well enough alone and not tried so hard to engage him in small talk.

“No need to fret, dear,” Gladys says, leaning in on the counter where you’re currently stacking clean coffee mugs. “Maybe he’s just been busy.”

“Hmm?” You ask, giving her a confused look.

“Oh, come on. I know why you’re looking so glum.”

You sigh heavily and abandon your task to sulk. “What if I scared him away?”

“Stop worrying. This is not the first time he’s been gone for days,” the older woman reminds you of how random Bucky’s appearances were in the beginning, and then how after he became a regular customer, he’d sometimes disappear for a few days only to show up again just as randomly as the first few times. It was pattern and you’re sure it probably had to do with his work with the Avengers, but still this time worried you.

“No, but it’s the longest.”

“Give it a few more days. He’ll be back.”

You sigh again, unsure if you really believe that, but what choice do you have?

Another two days pass without any sign of Bucky, and once again, you’re noticing the time. It’s nearly noon. You think Gladys is wrong. However, about an hour later, you’re in the kitchen refilling some condiment holders when the older woman comes in, her smile is both teasing and smug as she saunters up to you. “Guess who just walked in.”

“Really?”

“There was a couple finishing at his table when he came in, so I sat him at the counter for few minutes until they left, and I had a chance to clean up the table. He’s all yours to tend to now.”

When you approach him, you immediately notice the difference in his appearance, and it’s definitely not a bad change. “Hey, stranger!” Your voice is as cheerful as always and not at all quivering like the nerves you feel bubbling up in your stomach.

He smiles politely, watching as you set a cup of coffee down in front of him. “Hi.”

“I was beginning to think I scared you away for good.”

He smirks. “Nah. I was out of town…work stuff.”

You nod, feeling immediate relief as he explains where he’d been for the past week. At least now you know it wasn’t something that you said. “Well, I hope everything went well. Do you have any idea what you want or…?”

“Actually, I figured I’d let you pick something. What’s good for lunch?”

You smile again, feeling pleased that he trusts your judgement. “Hmm, the popular things are burgers and fries, but we do have a fantastic steak & cheese sub.

“Steak & Cheese sounds great.”

“Fries or onion rings?” You ask, encouraging him make the little decisions about his meal.

“Onion rings.”

“Drink?”

“Uh… Coke?”

“How about dessert?”

His face squishes up with uncertainty before he’s looking back up at you. “Surprise me?”

“Sure thing, sweetie,” you agree, already having something in mind. “By the way, I like the new hair.”

He seems a bit shy now, as he nervously rakes his fingers through his short crop and makes a face as if he actually forgot about it or as if he doesn’t really know how he feels about it yet. “Thanks.”

Gladys is standing by the counter when you go to place his order. You barely acknowledge her at first because you know she’ll just rag on you for a while over your crush, and you don’t want to chance him overhearing or noticing anything. You’ll admit it though, it’s not like it isn’t obvious to all of your co-workers. You’ve been pretty smitten with the so-called Winter Soldier since you laid eyes on him in the flesh. Much to her credit though, Gladys doesn’t say anything, she simply goes about her business and ignores you too. It’s a total win.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky continues to come in at his usual time. He has become surprisingly more open with you about his life. Most of what you talk about revolves around his workout routine and his therapy assignments. That’s when you find out why he cut his hair. It’s a necessary step in finding his own identity again. He hasn’t had short hair since he was just James Buchanan Barnes in 1945. His therapist insisted that he find that person again, at least what remained of him.

You consider that a lot. You wonder how much of that guy was actually lost, because everything about Bucky screams old fashioned to you. You love getting him to mention things about his life before WWII. You can see his features sharpen and his eyes light up as he thinks about certain aspects of his life back then. You imagine that’s the real James Buchanan Barnes, and that’s the Bucky you want to get to know better.

*******

They’re at the tower, Bucky and Sam; and they’ve just finished up some training exercises with the new crew members, so they’re relaxing on the common floor. Sam is amused because Bucky has been telling him about his favorite place in Brooklyn and where he spends an hour or more every morning after his run. He’s even told him about the waitress, and that’s making Sam’s head spin.

“Maybe you should just ask her out,” he finally blurts out, interrupting Bucky’s story.

Bucky gives Sam an incredulous stare, completely appalled by the other man’s audacity. “And I’m supposed to be the insane one.”

Sam chuckles, smiling fondly at his friend. “Seriously, dude. You need to get out there. Find your own happiness.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to do anymore. It was a lot less complicated even during the last years of the depression,” Bucky huffs, remembering bits and pieces of his teenage social life during the Great Depression.

“Now there’s a line you don’t hear every day.”

“I’m not joking. Back then you just took a girl dancin’ or to a picture show.”

“Dinner and a movie is still a solid option for a date, although movies might not be the first choice anymore. Hard to get to know someone if you’re not talking.”

“I don’t even know if she’s free…”

“That’s why you gotta ask! What’s the worse thing that could happen?”

“Utter humiliation. What if she’s just trying to be nice and not interested in a man technically three times her age?”

Sam rolls his eyes at his friend. “Not like you haven’t been humiliated before. Remember having Parker kick your ass?”

“Unfair advantage…” Bucky scoffs. “Let him try without the web-shooters.”

Sam snorts. “Still a touchy subject, I see…”

“If I remember correctly, I think he handed your ass to you, too.”

“Now see, I don’t remember that…”

“Why are we friends?”

“You’d be lost without me!”

They sit in comfortable silence for a while after that. Bucky went back to reading his book while Sam scrolled through the newsfeed on his tablet. “So, you gonna ask her out?”

“No.” Bucky doesn’t even have to look up to imagine the look he’s getting from his friend. So dramatic.

**  
***  
**

The next time Bucky makes it into the diner, it’s Wednesday, after his morning run. He enters the diner looking flushed in a black, long-sleeved tee and matching shorts. He pulls the earbuds from his ears and shoves them into his pocket along with his phone as he waves to you and makes his way back to his booth as always.

Taking it upon yourself, you fill a glass with ice water before grabbing the coffee pot and heading there as well. “Here,” you say, passing him the glass. “Looks like you could use this.”

“Yes! Thank you. It’s extremely hot out there today.”

“Too hot to be running.” Your voice sounds almost chastising, and sheepishly, he glances up at you as he chugs the water.

“Probably.” He sets the glass down on the table and gives you an apologetic look—one you can’t help but to find adorable.

“Anything in particular today?” You ask, trying to focus on anything but the look he’s giving you.

“Scrambled eggs with a side of bacon and French toast, please.”

You smile, appreciating his unwavering politeness. “Strawberries or blueberries?”

“Either.”

You wink at him and turn to leave. You take a deep breath as you make your way to the counter to put in his order. The little crush you had on him since day one, you realize, is morphing in to a much, much bigger one. The more open and vocal he is with you, the more you actually want to get to know him better. Never mind the fact that you would very much like to climb him like a tree if ever given the chance. Especially when he comes in after a run and he’s all sweaty like today.

A little while later, you deliver his breakfast, complete with French toast smothered in whipped topping and both strawberries and blueberries, before going back to grab a coffee and a muffin for yourself. You try not to allow yourself to think that his timing lately has been on purpose, but it does seem kind of suspicious that he’s always there around twenty minutes before your scheduled break. You don’t even ask anymore as you slide into the booth across from him. He only smiles, letting you know that he doesn’t mind your company. “So, what were you listening to when you came in?”

He glances up from his food, letting his fork still in the pile of scrambled eggs as he swallows his last bite. “A playlist I made up of songs that Peter Quill told me about. Apparently, the eighties was the best decade for music, or so he says.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I wouldn’t say that. So far I like most of it.”

“Far cry from what you were used to, I bet.”

He nods. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s still no music I’d rather slow dance to.”

Biting at your lower lip, you find yourself imagining just that. He probably really _was_ quite a lady’s man back in the day. He has a certain charm about him that you just can’t get over. “You like dancing?”

“Actual dancing, yes,” he replies with a snort before taking another bite of his food while you sit, picking at your muffin.

“Wanna hear something cool?” You chuckle and a slight blush creeps into your cheeks as he stares at you, waiting. “I inherited my great-grandmother’s collection of records. Many of them are from the late twenties through the sixties.”

“Yeah?” He asked, his interest obviously piqued.

“MmmHmm,” you finally bite into your muffin, ignoring the way butterflies are suddenly swirling in your stomach as you chew thoughtfully. What are you doing?

“Steve had a record player; and he said he had found some records at a record shop somewhere in Harlem. We talked about me getting to listen to them, but we never got around to it between Wakanda and the snap. I’ve downloaded some songs onto my phone, but I don’t think it’s the same.”

“If you want sometime, you’re welcome to come listen to them.”

Again, as he so often does. He hesitates a beat before responding. This time, it’s almost like he’s trying to figure out what you mean. “I… I think that could be fun. It’s been a while since I’ve heard some of my favorites. Online music is great, but they don’t have everything.”

“Really? You want to?” You ask, surprised that he’s actually considering your offer in a positive way.

“Sure,” he replies. “Unless you…”

“No! No, I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I wasn’t serious. You free this weekend?”

He swallows thickly. “This weekend?”

“Yeah. Maybe Saturday afternoon? I have the morning shift, but I’m done at noon.”

He nods slowly, like he’s wondering what he just got himself into. You hope he’s not going to change his mind. “Unless something comes up with work, I should be free.”

“Great! Just come by here and we can walk to my place. It’s just around the corner.”

He smiles, his lip curling up slightly on the right. “Convenient.”

“Very!”

**  
***  
**

He calls Sam as soon as he’s down the street from the diner. He’s freaking out. He’s not sure why he agreed to it. Yes, he likes her, but… dating someone? Was this even considered a date? What was expected of him? He stops to lean up against a lamp post when Sam finally answers his phone. He doesn’t even give the man time for pleasantries before he’s rattling off, “Is going to someone’s place to listen to old music considered a date?”

“You asked diner girl out?”

“She has a name, Sam,” Bucky huffed. “And no; I didn’t. I think she might have asked me.”

“You think?”

“We were talking music and she said she has some old records and said that I could come over and listen to them sometime.” He frowns when he hears Sam laughing through the phone. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. Do you hear yourself right now? You’re freaking out over nothing.”

“Yeah… Well, it’s been a minute since I’ve done anything like this, and back in…”

“Please… Please say back in my day.”

“Ugh, kiss my ass, Sam. Why do I even bother?”

“When are you getting together for this listening party?”

“Saturday.”

“Great, you have plenty of time to chill the hell out. You wanna come by the tower on Friday? I’m done in DC for a while, so I’ll be there. We can hang and I can give you some pointers on modern women.”

“I don’t think I trust your pointers, but yeah, I’ll come hang out for a while.”

When Saturday rolls around, Bucky finds himself surprisingly calm. No thanks to Sam. Not really, anyway. When he’d gone to the tower the night before, he ended up having pizza and beer with Sam and Wanda. Wanda was extremely helpful and way less obnoxious than Sam. How he’s such an effective counselor, Bucky has no clue.

Bucky dresses in jeans and a white t-shirt with a red overshirt. It’s casual and nothing fancy. Wanda had told him not to put too much thought into something like clothes. It wasn’t a major thing—most likely just two new friends hanging out and bonding over a shared interest. Bucky likes the idea of that. So much less stressful than thinking of it as an actual date.

He decides to walk straight to the diner instead of going for his usual run first. He arrives about an hour before her shift is scheduled to end, so he sits at the counter, having coffee and talking to Gladys about the Dodgers again.


	2. Chapter 2

The walk from the diner to your place is short, and neither of you really say too much. Bucky walks along beside you, with his hands shoved in his pockets. You can’t help but notice that he seems a bit shy, or nervous even. “Here we are,” you say as you begin to climb up the five concrete steps that lead to your building.

You live in a small townhouse apartment around the corner from the diner. It’s not much, but it’s convenient, and the cheapest rental you found in Brooklyn. Before you left for work, you’d got everything ready for Bucky’s visit. Of course, that meant you getting up at nearly three o’clock in the morning because you had to be at work by five-thirty; but for once, you didn’t mind getting up so early. The anticipation of having Bucky over was enough to get you out of bed before you normally would have.

There is a coffee table in in front of your couch that you moved out into the middle of the living room floor so you could set your turn table on it. You have an all-in-one model, so it pays several different types of media and has Bluetooth capabilities. Once you plugged it in, you grabbed three of the six crates of seventy-eight RPM records that have been collecting dust in the corner since you moved in. You’d also dragged out a couple of beanbags that you had in your bedroom and placed them next to the coffee table so that neither of you would have to sit on the floor. It looked comfy and cozy enough.

“Make yourself at home,” you tell him as you lead him into the living room. “The bathroom is just down the hall; the kitchen is over there.” You point to the area to your right. It’s not a big apartment, and it’s all an open space, so he can clearly see the kitchen from where you stand. “I’m going to go change real quick.” You motion towards your work uniform. “Be right back.”

You hurry to your bedroom and quickly change out of your waitress uniform and into a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt. You don’t want to leave him alone any longer than necessary because you don’t want him to feel uncomfortable. As you pass by the mirror above your dresser, you pause to do a quick hair and make-up check. Of course, it really doesn’t matter because he’d just walked home with you and you’re pretty sure that he’s seen you at your worst on a busy day at the diner; but either way, it makes you feel better knowing that you don’t look like a complete hot mess.

Bucky is already sitting on the edge of the couch looking at some records when you return. He’d pulled a small stack from one of the crates and has them sitting on his lap as he reads the labels one at a time. He looks up upon hearing you join him. “These are…” He just shakes his head as he looks over the record in his hand. “Your grandmother must have taken really good care of these.”

You nod. “She did. They were in her attic for years covered in plastic. When I got them, I cleaned each of them with alcohol and cotton balls.” You sit down on one of the beanbags next to the coffee table and reach to turn on the record player. “Do you recognize any of them?” Hopefully there is something in the pile of records that he knows. Otherwise, this would probably be a waste.

“Yeah…” Bucky reaches for a record that he put to the side. “This one. This was my sister’s favorite. She played it all the time.”

“Let’s Misbehave…” You read as you take the record from him. It only takes a second for you to have it on the turntable and started. Once it begins playing, you recognize it immediately. “I know this song. It’s from The Great Gatsby.”

Bucky squints at you, clearly confused. “The book?”

“They made a movie a several years ago. This song was on it. I’m sure it’s a remake or something, but I like the song.”

“It was made into a movie in the late 1920’s, but it was a silent film.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The book was better.”

“Aren’t they always?” You pick up another stack of records for yourself, realizing that aside from cleaning them up, you hadn’t really done anything with since you got them years ago. “Ya know, I haven’t ever listened to these records. I picked through them and pulled out a few from the fifties that I recognized to add to my personal collection, but these have just been collecting dust.”

“You don’t like orchestra, swing, or jazz music?” He glances over at you from his perch on the couch.

“On the contrary. I like all kinds of music; Jazz is actually one of my top five favorite styles. I just haven’t had a chance, or a reason to sit down and go through these one by one to see which ones I like.”

“I’ve noticed some Ella Fitzgerald and Duke Ellington already.”

“I know some of Ella’s music,” you respond, not really sure how you missed that when you were going through them. “But I think most of what I know came later, like in the fifties.”

“Guy Lumbardo,” Bucky says as he lifts up another record, smiling fondly, but also shaking his head in disbelief. “I danced to this song the first time I took a girl out.”

“Really?” You look at the record that he’s passing to you. “First of all, I’m impressed that you remembered the song you danced to.”

Bucky nods, a far away look washes over his face as he loses himself in thought. “It’s odd, really. The memories come back to me in little pieces. Like something I see or hear will trigger thoughts and I just remember things.”

“I can’t imagine what that must be like,” you say softly. And you really can’t. You’d be terrified if you couldn’t remember your past. You get nervous just when you have moments of forgetfulness sometimes.

“It’s like getting to know someone, except that someone is yourself,” he says quietly.

You put the record on, deciding that you need to bring him back to happier thoughts. “Did you know all the popular dances back in those days?”

“Nah,” he replies, a brighter smile replacing the somber look he’d been sporting just seconds ago. “I knew how to waltz and do the foxtrot.”

“No jitterbug?” Your eyebrows knit together as you remember something from one of your high school music classes. “Or was it the Lindy Hop?”

“God, no. I mean, it was fun to try, but I was terrible.”

You chuckle as the music begins to play again. It’s a slower song, but the jazz is still prevalent. “Well if you can still waltz, you’re doing better than me. I’m doing good to just sway during a slow dance; however, I am really good at the Macarena.” You can’t help how amused you feel when Bucky wrinkles his nose at the mention of the Macarena. Maybe in the short time he’s been back with society, he’d somehow been exposed to the 90’s dance craze. You stand up, laying the records you were perusing down on the coffee table. “Would you like something to drink?”

Bucky glances up, but only momentarily before going back the records and asking for a cola. You head over to the kitchen to get a couple bottles out of the refrigerator. “I was thinking I could just make us a pizza for lunch. I tend to keep frozen ones on hand. Is that ok? If not, we can order something.”

He shakes his head, telling you that pizza is fine. So, while you’re in there, you go ahead and turn the oven on to preheat. While you’re panning the pizza, you notice that Bucky is changing the record. It makes you glad to know that he’s not too uncomfortable to be hanging out with you, and the fact that he’s activey participating speaks volumes. He’d come a long way since barely speaking to you at the diner those first couple of weeks.

*******

The nervousness that Bucky had felt over the whole idea of spending time alone with her dissipated that moment that he started going through the old records. As if they possessed some kind of magic, he felt waves of nostalgia running through his mind; it almost felt like one of the memory recovery exercises that he’d done in Wakanda.

Honestly, he is having a good time. By the time lunch is ready, he’s already gone through half a crate of record, picking out songs here and there and telling her little stories behind the memory if it triggers anything specific. There was a lot of music that came out of that era and a lot that he isn’t even familiar with due to the fact that it wasn’t circulated as quickly and as easily as it is today. Fortunately, the collection he’s being treated to is vast and does include some of his favorites.

While he sorted through the records, he also migrated to the other beanbag and is now leaning comfortably against the coffee table, tapping his fingers along to the music. He’s actually starting to hum along when she rejoins him, placing a plate full of pizza and another bottle of coke in front of him. “Thanks!” He says, looking up at her for a quick second before reaching for a slice.

They spend the rest of the afternoon listening and sorting. He has a pile stacked on the end of the coffee table. That stack contains ones that he likes. Those are the ones he definitely wants to hear. The others he’s just carefully putting back into the crates either because he doesn’t recognize them or because he knows them but isn’t in a hurry to listen to them.

She’s watching him with a curious or somewhat amused smile on her lips. Bucky notices. It makes him vaguely uncomfortable, but he tries to brush it off. Of course, she’s going to be curious. She’s going to find him odd, and he guesses that, yes, that could be a form of amusement. “What?” He finally asks after sliding another record into one of the crates. His voice is soft and the smile he’s trying to force seems unsure.

“Nothing. I was just watching you. I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”

“Oh…” he glances down, studying for a moment before he says anything else. “I have enjoyed this. I’m glad you suggested it and thank you for… Um… trusting me?”

“Trusting you?” She asks, somewhat confused by the basis of his gratitude.

“Hundred-and-five-year-old war veteran. Super soldier serum. Brainwashed ex-assassin?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Bucky.”

“Most people are.” It was true. Sure, he’d come a long way since twenty-sixteen when Steve kept him from being taken to The Raft or worse; but people were still skittish around him. That’s why he tried to be as low-profile as possible. He kept to himself when he wasn’t working or hanging out with his friends—also his co-workers. He didn’t flash his arm around, and gloves were usually a part of his daily wardrobe, no matter the season. It was just his way of trying not to make people notice him and become uncomfortable. They just had a hard time separating the man from the villain. Yes, part of him will always be the Winter Soldier, but Bucky Barnes is really just who he is.

“Ok, Barnes,” she grabs his attention as she stands up, obviously keen on changing the subject or maybe just proving to him that she’s actually not afraid of him. At all. “Dance with me.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he starts to laugh. “What?” He’s even further surprised when she grabs his right hand and pulls, coaxing him up from his spot on the floor. “I…”

“Teach me to waltz.”

“Uh… I…” Bucky continues to stammer. “I don’t know if I even remember how. It’s been over seventy-five years!” He laughs at himself over that last part. It makes him feel a little better knowing that he can somehow find the humor in that now. Being a man out of time wasn’t an easy ting to grasp sometimes. Not matter how many times they’d thawed him out for a job, he never quite noticed his surroundings and how much they had changed until that day on the bridge when his memory was triggered. Not everything had come rushing back to him, but it was enough to make him feel lost. So unbelievably lost and confused.

“How hard can it be? Probably like riding a bike.” She says, trying to convince Bucky that he can remember the steps to a dance he’d done in the 30’s and early 40’s just as easily as anything else he’d done since truly waking up.

“Well, don’t blame me if I show you all wrong.”

“Not like I’m going to be dancing with a lot of fellas who know how to waltz these days.” She retorts while dragging him over to the side of her living room where there was less furniture. “So how will I actually know?”

There’s a slight pause before Bucky chuckles lightheartedly. “Thing of the past huh?” She nods and he takes her left hand in his right one and very carefully lays his left on her waist after placing her right hand on his shoulder. “Ok, so just follow my lead. I step with my left, you step with your right; I step with my right, you step with your left.” Bucky takes a step forward with his left foot, and then brings his right one up next to it. “Now, together,” he says as he slides his left foot over to his right. “Good. Now back…”

It takes a couple of tries, but she soon gets the idea of the simple box step that makes up the waltz. Bucky tells her that rotations can be added later, once she gets the hang of the basic six steps. She smiles, realizing how simple it really is. “I thought it would be harder.”

He shrugs. “Not really. This version is pretty simple.”

“Told you that you would remember.”

“Like riding a bike,” he quips.

“Should we add some music?”

“Would probably make this a bit less awkward, but I mean, this if fun too.”

She rolls her eyes wondering if he had always been this playful or sarcastic and lets go of him to find a suitable song. “Suggestions?”

“Moonlight Serenade,” he says as if he’d already been thinking about it. He was, actually. That was the song he was imagining in his head as he taught her the basics. “Should start with a slow one at least.”

“Weird how I never knew there was a version before Sinatra’s.”

Bucky lifts a brow trying to remember why he recognized that name. “Yeah?” Personally, he remembered the song playing on repeat at their base in Germany during the war. It was featured on an army v-disc and its melodies were soothing enough to put the soldiers’ minds at ease if only for a bit, so it was a crowd favorite.

“Sinatra is one of the great Jazz artists of all times. He rerecorded a lot of hits, apparently including this one. Moon River is my favorite though.”

*******

It takes you a few minutes to find the right record, but once you do, you put it on and go back to where Bucky is waiting. You get back into position, taking his hand in yours and putting your other one on his shoulder.

The two of you begin to move as the music starts, Bucky leads you flawlessly as if he’d been dancing everyday for the last seventy-five years. And honestly, you’re surprised by how easily you caught on to the steps as well.

Soon, you find yourself getting lost in the music, you let yourself imagine living in another time when this was the norm. When slow dancing in the living room was something that couples did. There is a sort of romanticism to the mere idea. You can’t help but wonder if Bucky ever did that with his girls back before the war. Did they stay in and dance to the scratchy sounds coming from an old Victrola or did they go out dancing with other couples? You smile at the thought of a dashing Bucky Barnes in his prime, acting as the ladies’ man that all the history books claimed he was.

Being this close to him is thought-provoking to say the least, he’s warm and his touch is gentle. Even where the metal hand rests against your side, it’s light and not at all dominating. You find yourself hoping the song never ends, because you really like being connected like this. You like feeling the heat of his body so close to yours, and you like being able to touch him—even though it’s only minimal, you never really thought you’d get a chance to hold his hand as you are now. It’s delightful. His fingers are calloused, but there’s still a softness there, one that you’d welcome elsewhere, if he were ever willing.

When that thought crosses your mind, you realize that your daydreams are going way too far, and you need to reign them back in. You begin to concentrate on the music—instead of on Bucky—and the way you’re moving around the small space between your living room and kitchen. Suddenly, you wish you had a bigger living room. “I think next time, we should move the furniture out of the way.”

“Next time?” He looks at you with question in his piercing, blue eyes as if he’s unable to believe you really like spending time with him.

“Yeah. Next time. You don’t honestly think we’re going to get through every record today, do you?”

“We have made a pretty good dent in them, already.”

“Oh, Honey,” you exclaim, your voice rising dramatically as you move across your living room floor to the sounds of Glenn Miller and His Orchestra. “You have no idea. Once we get through this, you have like three more decades worth of records in the closet. I can’t wait for you to experience the Beach Boys craze.”

“The what?”

“Just wait and see.”

He smirks slightly. “Ok.”

“So, you’ll come again.”

“Are you kicking me out soon?”

You feel your cheeks heat up and your eyes grow wide. “No! I just…”

“Calm down, doll. I’m just teasin’ you.”

You glare playfully at him, but he only shakes his head and continues moving you effortlessly across the floor until the song ends. “Thank you,” you say as he steps back, letting go of you after the last note fades away.

“Actually, thank you. I haven’t felt that way for a… well…” He smiles, turning back to the coffee table and the records, knowing that you will follow. You do, and you notice that Bucky’s a little more relaxed than he had been all day. Sure, he’d been getting more comfortable around you as it was, and today was definitely a vast improvement, but now he just seems lighter.

You spend a few more hours perusing over the music and trading stories. He tells you a little more about living in Brooklyn in the thirties versus living there now. Even though he’d always been interested in future and had even witnessed Howard Stark’s prototype for the flying car among other scientific phenomena—himself and Steve included—Bucky still couldn’t wrap his head around some of the technology of this day and age. But he is open-minded about it and is—as he told you—eternally grateful for the internet and cellphones. It’s intriguing to hear his thoughts on the world today.

It’s around six in the evening when he notices the time and tells you that he should be going. You hate the fact that he’s leaving because you’re really enjoying the day. You ask him to stay for dinner, but he politely declines and helps you clean up the mess in your living room. As he’s leaving, he pauses with you by the door and once again thanks you for a great day. “Seriously, I didn’t realize I needed this.”

“There’s no need to thank me. Will I see you at the diner on Monday?” You’re off on Sundays, so you don’t even bother asking him about tomorrow.

“Probably not,” he confesses. “I have a thing…”

“Avengers stuff?” You nod understandingly when he confirms that it is. “I get it. Be safe and I’ll see you when I see you. Then we’ll figure out when our next listening party will be.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he agrees.

You take a deep breath and step in to hug him before your nerves refuse to let you. He doesn’t seem to mind that you fling your arms around his neck and hug him tightly. In fact, you feel him chuckling to himself as he carefully hugs you back.

“I’ll see you around,” He says, smiling as he opens your apartment door.

“Be safe, Bucky.”

With another nod, he’s out your door leaving you alone for the rest of the night. Sighing heavily, you lean back against the door as it closes. The day turned out way better than you expected it to. You are beyond proud of yourself for making the effort with him. He needs a friend. Well, a friend who isn’t a part of the Avengers and can be his escape and his confidant if he should need it. You could totally be that. Who knows what could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: POV changes from reader to Bucky... indicated by *****
> 
> (Also, I went back and edited the last two chapters to use ***** for indication of POV change)

Over a week passes before you see Bucky again. He walks into the diner right before your shift ends on Monday afternoon. You are getting ready to leave, but when you see him come through the doors and head back to his usual place, you decide then to stick around for a bit as a customer. You sit across from him with a chocolate milkshake while he enjoys a late lunch. You chat about things that have gone on during the week that he was away. He doesn’t tell you much about where he’d gone, just that it was a recon work in Budapest with Sam and Wanda. Of course, you understand that he can’t go into details for reasons of confidentiality and safety, so you don’t pry.

“So, what happens now?” You ask. “You just sit around and wait for the next call?”

“Not exactly. I’ve been helping out over at the tower. Training of new recruits and such.”

“Oh yeah? What does that entail?”

“Basic combat training. Hand to hand, firearms, stuff like that.”

As he talks about the things he’s doing at the tower, you can’t help but let your imagination run a little wild. You’re absolutely certain that the image of Bucky in his combat gear is the hottest thing on the planet to you right now. There are moments when he’s speaking to you that you have to reorientate yourself to your surroundings because you’ve managed to get lost in your own head or in his words. More than once, you find yourself hanging on every single one.

You do this so often that it soon becomes apparent to him because suddenly, he stops talking mid-sentence and gives you a smirk which makes you sit up straighter in the booth and send him a confused look. “What?”

“Are you even listening to this story anymore?” He asks with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Of course,” you defend. “I’m fascinated by Sam’s little… what’s it called again?”

“Redwing.”

Right. Redwing. Evidently, Sam has a very deep relationship with his drone and wants everyone to treat it as though it’s human—or at least capable of feeling. “What I don’t understand is why it’s such a farfetched idea to everyone. I mean, weren’t Ultron & Vision AI? And both were capable of feelings so...” you take a sip of your milk shake. “Why not Redwing?”

“Both Ultron and Vision were created using the mind stone. I’m pretty sure Redwing’s tech has no such comparison.”

You frown having totally forgot about all the different uses of the infinity stones for a hot second. Then again, you’re not really a science nerd so much as a language arts and history nerd. Sitting your cup down, you cross your arms on the table and lean in a bit. “Pretty crazy isn’t it; everything that’s happened in the last several years? I mean, what was that like for you?”

“Unbelievable,” he admits. “It took me a little while to get a grip on things once I had control of my own mind, and then Thanos came along. I mean, I’d heard about New York and the Chitauri, and of course Thor and Loki, but hearing is one thing. Actually seeing it though?”

“It’s a whole new world,” you say which instantly reminds you of one of your favorite animated movies. “Hey, we should hang out again sometime. Check out some more music.”

“Yeah. We should,” Bucky agrees with a smile. “I enjoyed it the last time, and there are still a lot of records to go through.”

“Are you busy Friday evening?” You ask, trying not to sound to overzealous.

“Not at the moment. You know how my schedule works sometimes though.”

You chuckle to yourself, fully aware of how privileged you should feel about that. “Yeah. I guess I do. So, let’s just shoot for Friday night and if something changes, you can text me.” You pause for a second. “Or call…”

Once again, Bucky doesn’t hide his amusement as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He’s fully aware of why you amended your first suggestion, and you feel your cheeks flushing a bit. “I do know how to text,” he assures you as he unlocks his phone and hands it over. “Put your number in there.”

You do as he says, saving your name with a music note emoji next to it. “There,” you say as you give the device back. “Now you have my phone number. Don’t be giving it out to any extraterrestrial beings.” Bucky’s half-grin, half-smirk is the only acknowledgment you receive as he becomes busy typing something into his phone for a moment before shoving it back into his pocket. Then you feel your own phone vibrate against your hip, so you reach into your back pocket and pull it out. Bucky sent you a text message. Your lips purse as you read his words and litany of completely relevant emojis. “Well, I’m glad Suri taught you how to use a cellphone and I suppose you could give my number to Thor.” You say with a shrug.

The rest of the week passes by uneventfully. Bucky stops by the diner daily at his normal time and has breakfast after his morning run. Before you know it, it’s Friday and much to your delight, Bucky didn’t get called away so you’re able to hang out at your apartment as planned. You spend hours combing through yet another decade of music, and this time you order in dinner and Bucky stays to eat with you. Then you plan for the next night, and it becomes a weekend thing at first. However, that soon morphs into an occasional weekday thing too.

Over the next several weeks, you look forward to the time spent with Bucky listening to old music, playing random board games, or discussing art. Yes, art. You learn that Bucky had always been quite interested in art as well as science. Much to your surprise, Bucky rarely talks about Steve. Aside from a few mentions here and there, it’s like he really has nothing to say about him. It makes you wonder if it has something to do with his therapy. Maybe his friendship with Steve is something they’re also working on. You certainly couldn’t imagine losing your best friend once let alone multiple times.

Bucky seldom mentions therapy either. You know he goes twice a week unless there is a mission, and then the week following that mission often has three appointments. You’d like to mention it sometime—to let him know that he can talk to you if he wants, but you decide to stay mum on the subject for now. If Bucky wanted to talk about it, he would. Afterall, he was the first one who brought it up all those weeks ago at the diner. Baby steps, you remind yourself on more than one occasion. Your relationship with Bucky had already gone further than you ever imagined it could. He finally seemed fully relaxed around you. He’d even begun to treat your apartment like a second home.

One evening when Bucky arrives at your apartment, he’s carrying a plastic bag full of take-out containers. You eye him suspiciously. “What?” He asks with a sly grin. “I brought food.”

“I see that,” you say with a chuckle. “Is that Chinese?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles at you, nodding his head in affirmation. “You said it’s your favorite, right?”

Ok. So, he’d been paying attention. You barely remember mentioning that. “Yes! It is. What did you get?”

“A little bit of everything, I think. Extra cheese wantons and donuts too.”

You whimper softly. “Bucky Barnes I could kiss you right now,” you say. “This totally makes my day!” You don’t miss the way his cheeks color up just above the neatly groomed edges of beard. It’s cute. “Come on,” you grab his arm and haul him into your apartment, closing the door as he steps forth.

Bucky kicks off his shoes by the door as he’s become accustomed to doing when he comes to your place. Then he treks on into the kitchen where he sets the bags on the counter before turning to go down the hall to the bathroom.

A content sigh rests upon your lips as you watch him retreating down the hallway. This feels good. Becoming friends with Bucky was one of the best decisions you’ve made in a while. He’s charming and fun and kind. So kind. It’s hard to believe that he’s the same man who was known as the Winter Soldier. Your heart aches as it always does when you think of the life that Bucky must have lived; the pain and the suffering that he had to have endured.

You busy yourself unpacking the containers of Chinese cuisine until Bucky returns and grabs a couple of plates from the cupboard. “Thank you for this,” you say, realizing that you hadn’t said it before.

“No problem. You’ve been feeding me for a few weeks now, so it’s the least I could do.”

You smile, reaching for the plate he’s handing you. “So shall we take this to the living room as always or would you like to try something really off the wall and actually use the kitchen table?”

“Hmm,” Bucky grimaces. “Where’s the fun in that.”

“Fine… Living room it is. How about I finish getting this ready and you go clean up the monopoly game we left on the table last time?”

A little while later, you’re back in the living room, enjoying dinner and trying with all your might to teach Bucky how to _properly_ use chopsticks, while listening to the calming sounds of the Beach Boys coming from the record player. You’d managed to make it to the sixties already and you’d had fun introducing Bucky to some of the greats from that period. The Beatles of course were a must, but your favorite was the Beach Boys along with some of the girl groups from that era. So far, he’s been receptive of most of it; and impressed with how the music had evolved. You’d found out that a couple of the Beach Boys songs were great for waltzing, so you convinced Bucky to give it a shot. That resulted in him expertly leading you around the living room to the echoes of endless summers and California dreams on multiple occasions.

There was something about the dancing though. While it was fun and exciting for you, you get the feeling that it might be giving Bucky a feeling of normalcy again. He seemed to enjoy it as much as you. Of course, listening to music and dancing isn’t the only thing you do. There have been a few nights when you’ve both went off on tangents talking about art and movies or food. You’d even shown Bucky a couple of your favorite movies. Sure h’d been out in the world for a while, but he’d clearly never lived in it.

After both of you have finished your food, Bucky clears up the mess and carries everything back to the kitchen while you take the current record off the turn table. When he returns, he sits back down and promptly reaches for another one to replace it.

You take the record from him, but you don’t put it on to play. Instead you lay it down and stand up from your spot on the floor. “Ok. We’ve been listening to this old music for weeks now. I think it’s time you let me share with you some of my favorite songs to dance to—from my time.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything to that, he only lifts a brow and watches as you retrieve your phone and come back to connect it to the stereo that still taking up residence on your coffee table.

“I made a short playlist last night.” You turn the music on and as the first few notes of your favorite Bryan Adams song begins, you reach for his hand. “Come on. My style isn’t much different than your waltz.” As he comes to stand in front of you, you take Bucky’s hands and place them on your sides before throwing your own arms over his shoulders. He shoots you a glance but remains silent. “Slow dancing today isn’t complicated. There aren’t really any specific steps, or at least there doesn’t have to be; just sway with the music. Let the music move you.” You explain as you begin moving to the beat of the music.

Bucky follows your lead and soon you’re lost in the slow movements. “I’ve heard this song before,” he notes as your dance. “It’s nice.”

A smile pulls at your lips and you move your hands to the back of his neck, letting your fingertips ghost over his skin. “One of my favorites. From the best decade of music too.”

Bucky scoffs. “According to Quill,” he glances down, catching the cynical look you’re giving him. “And apparently you?”

“Absolutely,” you agree. “However, there are some songs from the nineties that rival those from the eighties.”

“Is this dance,” he says as the two of you continue to sway, turning in slow circles as you move around the room. “Is there any more to it, cause this feels a little awkward to me.”

“Well,” you say, realizing that it’s feeling the need to maintain constant eye contact that is probably making Bucky a bit uncomfortable. “You could always pull me closer, and I could rest my head on your shoulder instead of staring wistfully into each other’s eyes.” You were partially joking, but you don’t object when Bucky pulls you in. Laying your head against his shoulder, you let your hands move to rest on his upper back. “Better?” You ask with a smile.

“Yeah,” He replies while resting his chin on you head. “Feels more comfortable.”

That makes you smile. There are so many little things that Bucky does that puts a smile on your face. The best thing about that is that it’s just him. He doesn’t need a motive. After another moment, the song changes and you recognize it immediately as Boyz II Men. Feeling that your current situation is a little too intimate for that song in particular, you start to move away. However, Bucky holds you firmly and you can’t help the giddy feeling that washes over you. “Enjoying yourself?” You ask.

“I am,” he replies. “This is a good song. Also eighties?”

“No. This one is actually from the nineties.” You go on to explain the band and how you didn’t realize that you put this song on the playlist.

“I’m glad you did. I like it.”

You lift your head to look up at Bucky. He’s smiling, his eyes are sparkling and all you can think about at that second is how much you actually do want to kiss him. It’s not a brand-new feeling. The thought has crossed your mind a few times, but you’d always shoved it to the back of your mind because you didn’t want to ruin the blossoming friendship that you’ve created by having inappropriate thoughts about him. “Bucky…” you whisper as your eyes meet.

“Yes, doll?”

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. He does it randomly and frequently. You usually just brush it off as his favorite term of endearment, but there’s something about the way he said it this time. A tingle runs down your spine and your heartrate increases. But it’s not only that; he’s still staring at you, anticipating. His blue eyes are questioning, and his movements are slowing, not doubt in concern for your lack of response.

You let your fingers move over the back of his neck, feathering lightly across his hair line until you work up the nerve to pull him down to your level. As your lips brush against his, you both sigh as if it’s something you’ve both been waiting for and have finally been granted the satisfaction. You can’t help but whimper at the idea that Bucky had been wanting this too. Several seconds drag on and the kiss remains chaste. However, as you move to pull away, Bucky’s metal hand tightens on your waist, holding you in place while his other hand comes up to slide around to the back of your neck.

That’s when you let him take full control. Your hands find their way back to his head where they tangle in thick, dark locks of hair and you can’t help the whimper that escapes as he kisses you so softly—so gently; unlike you’ve ever been kissed before. His lips feel lush and smooth as they slide against yours. You gasp softly at the touch of his tongue as it barely grazes your lower lip. Clinging to him, you try to savor the moment—to commit it to memory because this is a kiss that you never want to forget.

*****

Bucky sighs, letting his hands slowly fall away from her as the kiss ends. His eyes are still closed, and he rests his forehead against hers, willing his breathing to return to normal. “Bucky,” he hears her say his name softly, so he lifts his head to look into her eyes. She’s staring at him with such vulnerability and he can see the hopefulness shining in her eyes. It makes his heart sink a little bit because he’s going to end up disappointing her.

Carefully, he reaches up to touch her cheeks again, taking a moment to brush the strands of hair our of her face “You don’t want this,” he warns, but she’s already nodding her head in protest.

“Yes, I do,” she insists. “I really, really do.”

Bucky shakes his head, letting his hand fall away again as he heads to the couch to sit down. “I’m no good for you,” he says adamantly.

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?” Bucky chooses not to say anymore at that moment but doesn’t hesitate to shift away when she sits down next to him. “Come on, Bucky,” she coaxes, her voice soft and gentle as always. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I have way too many issues; too much going on up here,” he taps on the side of his head for emphasis. “And with my history; my job? I’m afraid it would put you in danger. I worry about that enough as it is.” He exhales seeing the look of curiosity wash over her features. “I do care about you,” he assures her. “More than I probably should.”

“I care about you too, Bucky.”

“Why?” He watches, halfway expecting her not to be able to answer that, but she does; and she does it without hesitation.

“Because you’re you. You’re a good person, Bucky. You’ve been through so much shit… stuff that would break anyone else in an instant, but not you. You have prevailed. You’ve faced everything with enormous strength, and you’ve fought back against the evil that tried to control you. Bucky, you stayed true to who you really are and that is worth so much love and respect.” She pauses for a moment as if she needs to make sure he’s hearing her.

Their eyes meet again, but this time he feels the threat of tears in his own and he knows she can see them. Since the day he fell from the train, no one besides Steve has ever taken the time to make sure he feels like anything more than an asset or in the recent years; Steve’s friend—well except Sam and Suri. He likes the other’s well enough though and he supposes that he’s been fully accepted into their group, but sometimes he’s not sure. He still sees most of them as nothing more than co-workers. Of course, part of that is probably due to his own unwillingness to get close to people.

Surprisingly, Bucky doesn’t jerk away when she reaches for his hand—the metal one. Always the metal one because it’s her way of letting him know that she’s not afraid of it and that it doesn’t change anything about how she sees him. “And this,” she starts again as she laces her fingers through his. “this was made to be a weapon—to make you a weapon, but you managed to change that.”

“Suri changed that,” he said, feeling a slight bit of disgust filter through into his tone.

“No.” She reaches up and places her hand over his heart. “You changed that.”

“I’m afraid you have too much faith in me.”

“Someone has to,” she says with a smirk.

A soft smile settles on his face as he relaxes a bit. The next few minutes go by without a sound because Bucky is busy contemplating and she obviously realizes that, so she just leaves him to it without interruption. When he finally speaks, it’s in a timid tone ad he feels more insecure than he has felt in a while. “So, uh… can I take you out sometime?”

Her smile lights up her whole face and her eyes glitter with excitement when she realizes what he asked. “You mean like on a date?”

“Yeah,” he scrubs a hand over his face wondering what in the hell he’s doing. “Like on a date.”

“I’d love that.”

“Ok then.” He chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip, avoiding her gaze as she repositions herself on the couch so that she’s got her legs crossed under her as she faces him.

“So what are we going to do on this date? Where are we gonna go?”

“I have no idea.” Bucky chuckles, thinking back to the conversations about dating he’d had with Sam.

“Well… What would you like to do?”

“Aren’t I supposed to ask you that?” He asks, resting his head against the back of the couch as he looks up at her.

“Nah. We can start with something you like.”

“Times have changed so much though. What’s proper?” He lifts a brow at the tiny giggle he hears. “What? Doesn’t that matter at all these days?”

“Well yeah. I mean it does to a point, but mostly people just do what they wanna do without caring about what others might think.”

Bucky sighs heavily. “This isn’t strange for you?” He has to ask because they really are from different worlds and as much as they’ve connected over certain things, there has to be other aspects of their lives that are like fire and ice—not to mention how people will talk. The media, although he’s tried to stay out of the spotlight as much as possible, will have a field day with it.

“Doesn’t feel strange,” she answers as she reaches out to brush her fingers along Bucky’s cheek. “It feels like…” she pauses as her eyes meet his. “It feels like something I shouldn’t run away from.”

Bucky’s breath shudders as her hand cups his face and she leans in closer.

“Does it feel strange to you?”

The tender moment is temporarily interrupted by Bucky’s laugh. “Doll, my whole life feels strange.” He smiles at the sound of her laughter and sits up a bit realizing that he really has nothing to lose and it’s an opportunity he doesn’t want to let pass him by; especially since she brings so much joy to his otherwise mundane life.

As her hand falls away from his face, he reaches to touch hers, careful to use only his flesh hand. He watches her eyes flutter as his thumb brushes over her cheek bone. “God, you are beautiful,” he whispers as he feels his own heartrate increase at the sight of her biting her lip. “Can I kiss you again?” He asks, his voice soft and uncertain.

Her eyes flick up to meet his as if she’s determined to make sure he understands. “You don’t have to ask, Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Kudos are great, but comments are best! All are greatly appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

The phone laying on Bucky’s dresser is ringing when he gets out of the shower. He picks it up just as it’s going to voicemail. “Sam,” he mutters to himself as he taps the screen to return his friend’s call.

“Man, I was just leaving you a voicemail about how you’re starting to let your age catch up with you. Ya know, seeing as it takes you so damn long to get to your ringing phone. My grandma answers faster than you do.”

“Maybe I was busy,” Bucky replies, putting the phone on speaker and laying it on his bed while he moves around gathering his clothes.

“Ah, sure.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, glancing back at the phone as he shuts his sock drawer. “What do you want?”

“Lunch and your marvelous company.”

“As long as you don’t expect me to cook for you.”

Sam’s laughter comes through the speaker, loud and boisterous. “Like I’d ever eat anything you boiled.”

Bucky chuckles at his friend’s accurate almost account of his cooking skills. “When did you get in?”

“Late last night. I would have called you then, but I didn’t want to disturb you in case you had your lady friend over.”

“No lady friend here,” Bucky replied. “Just me and the cat.”

“Oh. Well in that case, you wanna buzz me up?”

Bucky pauses for a beat as he pulls his pants on, discarding the towel along the way. “You’re already here?”

“Yes, and now I’m waiting for your elderly ass to let me in.”

“I think you can wait a little longer just because my elderly ass is too cranky to care that you’re standing on the street. Is it raining yet? I hope it’s raining.”

“Buck…” Sam’s voice is cut off when Bucky ends the call.

Bucky grins triumphantly as Alpine enters the room and immediately begins to rub up against his legs. “Hey buddy,” Bucky greets as he squats to pet his feline pal. He then takes his time with finishing his wardrobe for the day before heading out to his living room to buzz Sam up. “Hey, you can come up now,” he says into the intercom. “Take the stairs. The elevator is broken.”

“Man, that’s like eight flights of stairs.”

“Can’t help it.”

A few minutes later, Sam knocks on Bucky’s apartment door, so Bucky, wanting to further annoy Sam, takes his time opening it. However, when he does open it, he does it with a smile. “How was your climb?”

“Can it. It was fine,” Sam walks by Bucky, making himself at home.

As Bucky closes the door, he bends down to pick up Alpine. He then plops down on the sofa with him in his lap, eyeing Sam who is raiding his refrigerator. “Where are we going for lunch?”

“I was hoping for something Italian,” Sam replies while uncapping a bottle of water. “Do you know how hot it is out there today?”

“No. I haven’t been out yet.”

“You didn’t go on your morning run?”

“Not today. I was going to wait until later and do an evening run instead.” Bucky shrugged. Sam didn’t need to know his reasoning for rescheduling his run. “Anyway, there’s a place around the corner that has pretty good Italian food.”

“Or… We could go to that diner you’re always talking about.”

“Well,” Bucky began, “they don’t serve Italian, Sam.”

“So, I changed my mind on the Italian.”

“No.”

Sam smirked. “Ok. You just keep your secrets.”

After some more playful banter between the two friends, Bucky suggests they head to lunch. He locks his apartment door and begins down the hallway passing the stairwell. Once he’s stepped inside the elevator, he turns around, grinning smugly at the look Sam is giving him.

“Seriously, dude?”

“You shouldn’t mess with a cranky old man.”

“You’re an ass.”

A while later, they sat down in the small Italian Bistro. They order food and chat about random things up until Sam decides that he’s had enough idle chit-chat. “So how’s it going with diner girl? You guys still hanging out?”

With a sigh, Bucky begins to pick at the piece of garlic bread on his plate. “Uh, yeah. We’re actually going on an official date this Friday.”

Sam’s eyes grow wide and soon his grin is matching them. “That’s fantastic, man.” His smile softens when Bucky nods a bit apprehensively. “So where are you taking her?”

“I have no clue!” Bucky sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “We’ve talked about a few things, but I just can’t decide. I’m so…rusty.”

“Well, the hardest part is already over,” Sam assures him. “I’m proud of you for asking you out… You did do the asking, right?”

Bucky scoffs at his friend’s question and nods affirmatively at the same time. “Yeah. I technically did the asking.”

“Technically?”

There is a pause in their conversation while Bucky allows himself to, for what feels like the millionth time, think back to the kiss he’d shared with you. “I asked _after_ she kissed me.”

Sam laughs out loud at Bucky’s admission. “I like that. Forwardness is kind of sexy.”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders and sits up a bit straighter, resting his arms on the edge of the table. He feels a bit restless and can’t seem to get comfortable in any position for a long period, so he’s constantly shifting. “So, do you have any suggestions?”

“I thought you didn’t want my dating advice?”

“Yeah. You’re right. I’ll talk to Wanda.” He smirks when he receives an eyeroll from Sam before he asks him what they both like.

“It doesn’t have to be major. Sometimes women appreciate simplicity.”

“I thought about a museum or something.”

“That could totally work,” Sam agrees. “Maybe a little wine and dessert afterwards?”

“You don’t think a museum is a horrible idea? I mean, I only thought of it because we’ve had conversations about art and history and it just seems like something she might like to do.”

“Not at all, I say go for it.”

They sit in silence for the few minutes following; Bucky contemplating and Sam digging back into his food. Then when Bucky speaks up again, it’s to ask, “Do you think asking her to spend the whole day together would be too much?”

“Not when you’re already this far into the game.”

“How far am I exactly?” Bucky asks with a perplexed look on his face.

“Well, the way I see it is that you two have already been dating for a while, you just didn’t know it. If she kissed you, man, that means she’s obviously into you—God only knows why, but I doubt she’d object to spending the day with you. What do you have in mind?”

“A couple of things, actually. I need to make sure it’s feasible though.”

“Let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks. I will.” Bucky picks his fork back up to begin eating again. “So, what’s next with Moscow?”

“I don’t really know for sure.” Sam begins a lengthy discussion about some recon work the whole team had been involved in. It has been their main focus at the moment and Bucky is getting kind of anxious about when the fall out is going to happen.

“Do you think waiting it out is a good idea?”

“I hope it’s not a bad one,” Sam says, “But it wasn’t my call to make this time.”

*****

On Friday morning, you sit in front of the mirror in your bedroom. Oddly, you are feeling a bit nervous. It isn’t like you haven’t spent time with Bucky, but this is the first time you’re going out with him—in public, away from the sanctuary of the diner or your apartment, and he—he surprisingly, asked if you minded spending the whole day out. Of course, you don’t mind. You actually love the idea of spending the whole day with him, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t feeling quite anxious over the very idea. What if he gets bored with you? What if he figures out that you’re really not that interesting?

“Oh my God, you have got to stop stressing over this,” you tell yourself in the mirror. “It’s Bucky.” It’s true. You’ve spent a lot of time with him, and it seems like the two of you never run out of things to talk about, no matter how mundane the topics may be. 

For your date, you’ve chosen a pretty floral print maxi dress with a pair of plain white sneakers. Although Bucky didn’t tell you exactly what his plans for the day are, he did tell you that there would be walking involved. So, you want to be comfortable, but you also want to look nice.

Over the last twenty minutes, you’ve been debating on your hair. Normally, you just have it pulled up in a ponytail or in a messy bun because that’s just the waitress in you—and it’s so easy just to throw it up. It’s also the only way Bucky has ever seen your hair. Eventually, you decide to leave it down, wondering what Bucky will think about it.

Your make up is the last thing you need to do and considering you’re about to spend the day out in New York City, you keep it light. There is nothing worse than having your make up melt off of your face in the stifling heat of summer.

When Bucky arrives, he isn’t empty handed. As soon as you open the door, he hands you a small bouquet of wildflowers. You don’t miss the shy smile that graces his face as he does so. The gesture alone warms your heart and makes you realize that you’ll probably never have to worry about a lack of chivalry when it comes to Bucky Barnes.

“Thank you! They’re beautiful,” you say as you lift them to your nose for a sniff before reaching to give Bucky a small hug. “Come on in. I’ll go find something to put these in.”

“I wasn’t sure if you even liked flowers.”

“I do,” you assure him as you make your way to the bathroom to get a vase from the box in the bottom of the linen closet. You don’t use them a lot because you don’t get an abundance of fresh cut flowers for yourself, so they’re always tucked away out of sight. You fill up a tall, blue vase with water and carefully put the flowers down inside it before carrying it back to the living room where you place them on one of the end tables. “Perfect.”

Bucky, who is still standing in your entryway, smiles at you. “You look really nice.”

“Thanks. You clean up nicely yourself,” you say with a teasing smile while giving him the once over. He’s wearing black jeans, boots, and a grey t-shirt that should be illegal in your opinion. “I wasn’t sure what to wear since you were so vague on where we were going.”

“You’re fine,” he assures you. “Do you mind if we take a taxi? Or do you prefer one of those ride-share services?”

“A taxi is fine. Let me just grab my bag and we can head out.”

The taxi ride takes you a little over forty minutes and you find yourself in Upper Manhattan. Bucky finally confesses that he’s is taking you to The Cloisters, but not before stopping by a small coffee shop on Pinehurst where he buys you a small latte and a blueberry scone while getting himself a plain, black coffee and an almond croissant. The two of you enjoy your morning treats as you walk the short distance to the art museum.

“I hope this is ok,” Bucky says as you get closer to the building. “We’ve talked about both art and history, so I thought it could be something we both might like.”

“It’s great,” you tell him as you make your way up to the main entrance. The truth is, you do like museums, but this the first time that you’ve ever been taken to one on a date. You smile at the significance of that. “I feel like you really put some thought into this.”

“I didn’t want to be cliché, and we’ve already been dancing—kinda.” He finishes with a shrug and shoves his hands into his pockets.

You laugh softly at his reasoning. “Well, I guess technically, we have.”

Having never visited The Cloisters, you are amazed. It’s beauty and architecture speaks to you in ways that you can’t really verbalize, so you don’t even try. You simply let yourself absorb all the different displays of Medieval artwork as you walk through each gallery. It feels as though you’re taking a step back in time, to a different era, a different place. 

It also seems that Bucky is in very much the same state of awe. As you wander around one of the galleries, you notice that he stopped to study a stained-glass window, so you backtrack and quietly stand next to him. The window he’s looking at is beautiful; an array of vibrant colors depicting the Birth of Christ.

“My ma had a painting like this in our house.”

“Yeah?” You reach for his hand and lace your fingers with his, because his tone is subdued, and you want to be a comfort to him. He glances at you and you smile warmly letting him know that it’s ok to feel whatever it is that he’s feeling at the moment. “Where did she keep it?”

Bucky looks back to the window. “In the living room above the fireplace. It wasn’t nearly as pretty as this stained-glass, but it was almost the identical scene. It’s funny how that just popped into my mind when I saw this specific window.”

“Mmm,” you agree. “It triggered a memory, and that’s a good thing. These are the little details that you want to remember, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I mean, they make me feel a little sad because I never got to say goodbye to my family, but at the same time I feel kind of excited with every new memory that comes back because that means there may be a day when I can remember them completely.”

You nod, recalling that Bucky had told you about his family and how he has memories of them, but they’re mostly vague and somewhat fuzzy. “You’ll get there.”

From that point, the two of you spend a few more hours just walking around the vast structures and gardens; admiring and discussing the artwork. You end your tour of the museum around four-thirty in the gift shop where Bucky insists on buying you a small glass unicorn because he knew that the room with the Unicorn Tapestries had been your favorite. You accept it saying, “thank you,” with a smile as you pack it away safely in your purse.

“You’re welcome.” Bucky sends you a crooked grin—the one that makes you a little weak in the knees most of the time, and you let him take your hand to lead you back outside. “Are you hungry? There’s this little Dominican place nearby. I thought maybe we could grab something from there if you want.”

“Sounds good.”

The place that that Bucky had in mind is about a ten-minute walk toward Inwood, and like most every other place that Bucky likes, it’s a little hole in the wall establishment that most people would just stumble upon by accident. The food they serve is delicious though. As it turns out, Bucky’s therapist’s assignment that included trying new things doesn’t have an official due date, and he’d never had Dominican food, so he’s taking the opportunity. You’re more than happy to be able to take part in his therapy homework. “So, you did your research, huh?” You ask as you sit across from Bucky, finishing up your meal.

“I asked some friends who frequent Manhattan more than I do, about what was nearby. I knew of the museum though, and the place that we’re going next.”

“Where are we going next?”

“For a walk,” he says as if that explained it all. “Unless you’re tired…”

“I’m not tired,” you assure him. You’re far from it, actually. Spending the day with Bucky has been easy and relaxing. The nervousness that you’d felt earlier has completely gone away and being out with him feels no different than when you’re hanging out in your apartment. There’s no pressure, no expectations. You’re just having fun.

After the little restaurant, the two of you take the subway from Dyckman Street to Harlem where you find another little coffee shop tucked away in a building not far from the subway station on 163rd Street. That’s where you introduce Bucky to your favorite frozen latte. He was a little bit hesitant at first, because _“frozen coffee, really?”_ but he finally relented and let you order him one.

“You like it?” You ask a few minutes later as you walk hand in hand towards 165th street where an entrance to the Highbridge is located. Bucky did tell you on the subway that his plan was to stroll across the bridge from Manhattan to the Bronx, and maybe take in some of the New York skylines before sundown.

“I do,” he replies while looking down at the cup in his metal hand. “I never imagined that cold coffee would taste that good.”

“Well, the whipped cream and caramel sauce helps.”

Bucky chuckles and takes another sip of his drink. “Are you having a good time?”

You feel like that shouldn’t even be a question because you’re pretty sure a smile hasn’t left your face for more than a moment the whole time you were with him; and that one moment was while you were studying a rather complex piece of art at the museum that for some reason, made you feel inherently sad. “Are you for real?” You ask, feeling your smile grow even brighter. “I’m having he best time.” You swing your arms between you as your fingers tighten around his. “So far, I would give you an A on dating in the twenty-first century.”

He smirks while still looking ahead, but then turns his head to face you. “What do I gotta do to get an A plus?”

You lift a brow and your mouth falls open slightly as you stop walking to look at him. “Hmm, I don’t know. You got anymore surprises up your sleeve?”

“Maybe?” Bucky grins and begins walking again. He’s now leading you along a pathway in the park. You’re surrounded by trees and it’s breathtakingly beautiful. You can only imagine what this place must be like in the fall. Despite having lived in New York, you rarely visited Upper Manhattan, and you’ve never once walked across the Highbridge.

When you reach the Highbridge, you notice that there are several people already there. Many are just strolling along while some are running. There are even bicyclists riding along the walkway. “You know, I’ve never done this,” you tell him. “Have you?”

“No. I’ve only read about it,” Bucky explains as you walk along. He gives you a brief history of the bridge as he’d learned it in school. It was more interesting to hear it from him as opposed to your own boring history teacher who really didn’t give a crap about the value in history. He was just there to earn a paycheck and coach basketball.

“Did you know it was closed to pedestrians for a long time up until about ten years ago?”

“Yeah. Read that too.”

“You like to read a lot?”

“Yeah. Reading quiets my mind most of the time. And other times it sparks memories.” he says. “Kind of like music.”

You nod, understanding completely. If it weren’t for books and music, you may have never made it through your teenage years.

“Did you know that Edgar Allan Poe used to take frequent walks on this bridge?”

“Is that true?”

Bucky chuckles and shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’ve seen an illustration of Poe walking on it in the snow; that was the story behind it.”

“You a fan of Poe?”

“Of course.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.” You glance over at him and he only shrugs again. “Do you have a favorite work?”

“Now days it’s _A Dream Within a Dream_.”

“Relatable,” you say quietly.

“Not so much anymore,” Bucky asserts with a smile.

You feel his hand gently squeeze yours and you’re sure your heart skipped a few beats as your eyes meet his. You return his smile, “I’m glad.” By now, you’re standing above the Harlem river and you can see the boat traffic below. “Can we sit and watch for a while?” You ask, gesturing to one of the benches along the way.

As you sit there, watching the boats speeding along, leaving trails of white waves behind them you feel Bucky slip his arm around you. A small smile forms on your lips and you immediately feel yourself moving closer to him. You lean your head on his shoulder as you take another sip of your frozen latte. It feels comfortable. It feels natural.

The remainder of your time on the bridge is spent enjoying various views of Eastern New York as you head towards the Bronx. Once you’ve reached the end of the bridge, Bucky guides you towards the park on that side. It’s hidden among the trees, much like the one on in Harlem. “You had all of this planned?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, giving you an impish look as he finds a vacant bench, one that looks back towards Manhattan. “I wanted to spend the day with you.” He sits down on the bench but instead of pulling you down next to him, he pulls you down onto his lap making your shriek giddily in surprise. “And now…”

You lift a brow, looking down at him as you slip your arms around his neck, letting your fingers feather through the short hair at his nape. “Now?”

Bucky’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. His eyes meet yours again, and you feel like you could get lost in them. “Now, we watch the sunset over Manhattan.”

You smile, never letting your eyes leave his. “The sunset huh?”

“Yeah…”

Bucky swallows thickly as your hand moves from the back of his neck to his cheek. Your fingertips dance over his scruffy cheek, loving the way his beard feels under your touch. You lean forward, closing the gap between you; allowing your lips to meet in a slow but purposeful kiss. Your mouth moves against his, enticing a content moan from him as he pulls your body closer. The moment drags on for several long, blissful moments; the two of you slowly tasting each other’s kiss and chasing your fill.

When you finally part, you shuffle around, sliding onto the bench to sit next to him because you know if you don’t get out of his lap, you’re not going to be able to resist kissing him again. Not that you mind kissing him. The truth is you like it a little too much and you don’t want to risk pushing too far too fast. So, once again, you rest your head on his shoulder and shift your eyes towards Harlem. The sun is just starting to set over Manhattan, painting the sky with gorgeous colors of orange, blue, and purple. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the chance to enjoy such a beautiful sight. “It’s so picturesque,” you say, feeling Bucky nod in agreement. “Thank you for today, Bucky.”

“Was my pleasure. I hope you enjoyed it.”

“I did. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been on a date that could top this.” It was true too. Most of the guys you’d dated were generic in their dates of dinner and a movie or an occasional club. Bucky obviously wasn’t like that. He was charming and thoughtful and so unassuming. It was refreshing—and a little bit daunting.

“Guess I got my work cut out for me then, huh?”

Hearing that forces you to turn your attention back to him. He’s smiling at you again and you find yourself smiling back because his smile is contagious not to mention gorgeous and perfect. “Does that mean there’s gonna be a second date in our future?”

Bucky snickers. “Sam says we’ve been dating all along so, I’m not sure if it’ll be the second or the twentieth.”

You’re slightly taken aback by his confession, but you let go of the sudden tension long enough to ask, “You talk to Sam about me?”

“Well yeah. He’s my friend and… Wait. Is that not ok?” He looks alarmed, as if worried that he’s overstepped somehow.

“It’s fine, Bucky. I just… I don’t know. I guess I thought…” You laugh softly at yourself for a moment unsure of why the fact that he talked to Sam about you was so surprising to you. “I don’t know what I thought, really.”

“I had to give him some kind of explanation as to why I was suddenly in better moods.”

“Does he think you’re crazy?”

“Nah,” Bucky replies with laugh. “He might question your sanity though.”

“Hey!” You shriek, feigning offense as your elbow gently connects with his ribs.

“I’m kidding!” Bucky informs while rubbing at his ribs as if you’d actually hurt him. “Seriously though, he encouraged it… even before I entertained the idea myself.”

“How long did you entertain the idea, exactly?”

“A while.”

“Before we started hanging out?”

“No. I think it was the third time I’d gone over to your apartment. You made mock apple pie.”

Thinking about that day makes you smile. Bucky had, at some point, told you about the pie is mom used to make during the depression and how even though it wasn’t made with real apples, it was his favorite. So, you researched and looked for a recipe so that the the next time Bucky was supposed to come over, you could cook for him. When that night came, you made meatloaf and creamed peas with a side of candied carrots and the Mock Apple Pie for dessert. He’d been so surprised. “Well, you know what they’ve always said; the way to a man’s heart…”

Bucky snorted, but didn’t disagree. “It was good incentive.”

“I’m glad you liked the pie.”

“Brought back a lot of memories. You made it just like Ma did—with the crumble on top instead of pie crust.”

A soft smile plays on your lips as you snuggle closer and his arm tightens around you. “What was it like living here during the depression?”

“Tough. There were a lot of homeless people; not unlike today, really. The jobs just weren’t there, and people didn’t know what to do. I was a teenager through most of it, though. By the time I was eighteen, things were starting to improve, but jobs were still hard to come by even with the government relief programs. I moved around a lot from job to job.”

“And Steve?”

Bucky sighs. “He… His mom was sick, and he wasn’t much better off himself. He did what he could, and thankfully Sarah was still receiving her widow’s pension for having lost her husband in the first world war. After she died, I invited him to stay with us, but he was too damn stubborn. Too proud.”

“Do you miss him? I mean…”

“Of course. He was my oldest friend—the only thing tying my old life to this one, really.”

Silence ensues after that leaving only the sounds of passing cars nearby and the sirens in the distance. Typical sounds of the city that you love. It’s nice though, sitting there snuggled up to Bucky’s side with his arm wrapped around you, still holding you close. It’s even kind of romantic, which was something you never really expected from Bucky, but then again, you’d never been with him outside of work and your home, so you really didn’t know what to expect.

Together, you watch the sun setting over Manhattan until the skyline becomes only a shadow with lights spattered along it’s surface. That’s when Bucky finally speaks again. “We should probably head back to Brooklyn.”

“Yeah,” you agree even though you could probably spend the whole night sitting there on that bench with him. Despite the desire to stay right where you are, you remove yourself from his embrace and stand up, leaving him to follow.

“Do you want to catch a cab from here or walk back across to Harlem?”

You can’t fight your smile as you reach for his hand, delighted that the opportunity to spend more time with him has presented itself. “Let’s walk back.”

The trip back across the bridge was just as enjoyable as the first journey across had been. From this direction, you’re treated to views of the Chrysler building in the distance and the Highbridge water tower that stands just behind the rec center. Along the way, you also discover that the bronze plates embedded in the stone walkway tell the history of the bridge in chronological order. Bucky finds it amusing when you tell him they make more sense when you’re not reading them backwards.

By the time you reach your apartment, it’s nearing midnight. Bucky escorts you to your door as the taxi drives away. You use your key to unlock it while he waits. “Uh…” you ask as you turn back to face him. “Do you…” but he’s already shaking his head.

“It’s late. I’ll see you at the diner for breakfast?”

You nod, feeling a little disappointed that the night is finally about to end. However, knowing that you’ll be seeing him soon helps. “Yeah. The usual time?”

“The usual time,” he agrees while reaching for your waist. “I had a wonderful time today.”

“Me too.” You feel his arms go around you and he pulls you closer. Hope is building, but you wait, staring up into his eyes. Waiting.

It’s not a long wait and Bucky finally, for the first time, takes the initiative and leans in, planting a chaste kiss against your lips. “Goodnight, Darlin.”

Goosebumps prickle your skin and you take a shuddering breath as he lets go of you. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

He steps backwards down the steps and watches until you’re inside before he turns to walk down the street towards the subway station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry that it has taken me a bit longer to update lately. :( I'm still very much interested in this fic, so don't worry, it will not be abandoned. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos are appreciated, but comments are doubly appreciated! Seriously, I'd love to know your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> Also, you can find me on Tumblr pixie-queen24 I’m not all that active but I like friends. I’m on Twitter too, @pixie_queen84


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